Andrew stood and faced the judge. “Good morning, Your Honor. My client has no prior offenses. Matter of fact, she was visiting her father for the first time in three years at the time of this incident. She picked up a gun for protection because as far as she knew, unknown assailants had broken into the house she called home. These charges are far-fetched, and the state’s attorney is grasping at straws for a conviction.”
“Ms. Jackson, where do you reside?” the judge asked.
Kafisa looked at her lawyer first, and he gave her a nod, indicating she should answer the question.
“I reside in South Carolina.” She kept it brief. Kafisa provided no extra information.
“Why are you in New York?”
“Visiting my father.”
“I see. Now, when you grabbed a weapon, were you in fear for your life? Did federal agents announce their presence?”
Kafisa looked at her lawyer again for permission to speak. Again, he nodded his head.
“Yes, I was in fear for my life. No, the agents did not announce themselves until they broke through my father’s bedroom door.”
“Your Honor, the agents did announce themselves before entering the house,” the state’s attorney asserted.
“I think if they had properly announced that they were federal agents, Ms. Jackson would not have been in fear for her life. Also, she aimed the weapon, not knowing there were—”
“Your Honor, the agents announced themselves before breaking through the door,” said the state’s attorney.
“Did the agents announce themselves at the front door or after they broke into the house?”
“Your Honor, Ms. Jackson did not know that federal agents were in her father’s house,” Andrew declared, then looked at Kafisa with a glowing smile.
“I believe I asked the state a question.” The judge did not like the fact that her question had gone unanswered.
“I will have to acquire the report from the warrant,” said the state’s attorney.
“Did they have a no-knock warrant?”
“Your Honor, I will have to get the warrant they acted on.”
“Why don’t you have it now? I think I am ready to rule.”
“Your Honor, I ask for a recess to acquire more documents,” the state’s attorney pleaded.
“Your request is denied. Being unprepared is not something I can overlook. Ms. Jackson, I believe that you were in fear for your life and that the federal agents did not announce themselves before entering the house. Your bail is set at twenty thousand dollars, with a six-month probation sentence. After your probation is up, your record will be cleared and sealed. You cannot leave the state for the next six months. If you are arrested on any charges between now and when the six months have elapsed, your bail will be revoked, and the charges will be reinstated.”
“Your Honor, Ms. Jackson has conspired with a known criminal, her father, Mr. Kafis Jackson, who has been under—”
“State, I have ruled. Defense, will you be posting bail?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Andrew flashed another smile.
“Your Honor—”
“State, again, I have ruled. Next time be prepared.” The judge looked at the bailiff. “Next case.”
An hour later Kafisa was walking out of the courthouse, with the assurance that nothing would be on her record after six months. She was pleased with the judge’s ruling and extremely satisfied with her lawyer’s success in reducing her charges to a mere probationary period. Now she had to see her father to understand what had really gone down and why.
Chapter Six
One month later ...
“Please step through the metal detector,” the steroid-talking white officer said.
Kafisa sucked her teeth and did as she was told. Out of all the places where she could be visiting her father, this was the last place she had expected to be or wanted to be. She had driven for two hours to get to the Philadelphia Federal Detention Center.
“Stop right there,” a butch-looking white female officer commanded in an authoritative tone.
Kafisa came to an abrupt halt. She rolled her eyes as the butch-looking female officer waved a metal wand up and down her body. She started at the front, then made her way to the back and then to the front again. Once she thought the officer was done, Kafisa proceeded to move forward.
“Just a minute, ma’am.” The female officer put the metal wand in front of Kafisa to block her path. The wand landed right in front of Kafisa’s breasts. She could feel the metal touching her nipples. Kafisa knocked down the black-and-yellow wand in front of her. “Is there a problem?” the female officer asked aggressively.
“Yes, there is,” Kafisa shot back. “I don’t appreciate you trying to fondle me on the sly,” she spat angrily.
Her words caught the attention of other visitors waiting in line to visit their loved ones. They also caught the attention of a sergeant posted up on the jail wall, observing the conduct of his fellow officers. Before the butch-looking officer could react, the sergeant intervened.
“I got it, Johnson.” The sergeant placed his hand on the shoulder of the female officer whom he had called Johnson.
Johnson shot daggers at Kafisa, who met and matched her stare, before she sidestepped her and posted up for the next female visitor. Kafisa chuckled lightly under her breath at the female officer. This bitch don’t know how close she was to getting fucked up, thought Kafisa.
“My apologies,” Sergeant Davis offered.
His words calmed Kafisa’s confrontational demeanor. She nodded solemnly. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it,” the sergeant replied. “You’re Kafis’s daughter, right?” It was more of a statement than a question.
“Yes.” She was surprised by the sergeant’s comment.
“He’s been expecting you,” Seargeant Davis informed her. “Right this way.”
As she followed the sergeant, all she could think about was what it had taken for her to even find out where her father was being held. She had gone through hell getting information on where and why they were holding him. As high profile an attorney as he was, and despite all the money her father had been paying him, his own lawyer had been having difficulties finding out anything. It was actually Francine who had tracked Kafis down. After a few phone calls Kafisa had been informed that he was actually being held in FDC Philadelphia. After receiving the information about his whereabouts, she had stopped by the post office to check her P.O. box, which she’d had since she was a junior in high school, and she had found a letter from him telling her that he needed her to come visit him.
Ever since she had been released from FBI custody, Kafisa had been staying in a penthouse suite in Times Square, courtesy of her uncle Fran. The FBI had seized the place she had called home for most of her life, along with all the rest of her father’s assets. When she had returned to the house, they hadn’t even allowed her to get any of her things. Aside from what she had on during her arrest, Kafisa’s only belongings were back in South Carolina, where she attended school. She wondered if her father was aware of all that was going on out in the real world while he sat in the Philadelphia penitentiary.
Just then, as if on cue, Kafis Jackson came strutting through a metal door. Kafisa had to do a double take when he appeared in front of the Plexiglas. He was bigger than he had been the last time she saw him, which was nearly a month ago. She hadn’t seen him this size since she was a kid. He had muscles popping out in places she didn’t know muscles existed. His brush cut had turned into a miniature Afro, and his chin-strap beard was now a long, fluffy, full-size one. He also sported a pair of what seemed to be reading glasses. Kafisa just stared at him like it was the first time she had ever laid her eyes on him. He sat down and grabbed the phone. She picked up the phone on her side.
“Hey,” he greeted her.
“Hey, you.” Her excitement showed in her voice. It was good to see him, and she told him so.
Kafis smiled.
“H
ow’s everything?” she asked.
“As good as it can be under the circumstances,” he replied.
“That’s good to hear. I’m sorry for—” She didn’t get a chance to finish. Kafis held his hand up to stop her from continuing.
“No need for apologies or regrets. The important thing is that you’re here.”
“You’re right,” she agreed. Even now, Kafis was schooling her.
“How are you holding up?” he asked, lowering his volume.
Kafisa nodded. “I’m fine. Just been worried about you,” she confessed. “They were giving me the runaround, not giving me any information.”
“That’s all a part of the game, baby girl.” His tone was nonchalant.
Kafisa could tell he had given his current predicament some thought. Whenever he sounded the way he did now, his mind was already made up about something.
“So, is everything good? In your letter you said you had something important to talk to me about.”
Kafis ran his hand down his face, then stroked his beard. Kafisa could tell he was collecting his thoughts. “Yeah, I do.” Kafis cleared his throat. “I wanna tell you a story,” he said.
Kafisa gave him a confused look.
“Just listen,” he told her.
“You know I am.” She told herself not to interrupt him.
That made Kafis smile. A lump formed in his throat. Only she could make him feel the way he was feeling now. Kafis cleared his throat. “When I was eight years old, your grandmother sat me down and schooled me to the game. One day, after coming home from a half a day of school, I accidentally walked in on her while she was mixing up some drugs in her bedroom. When she saw me, she stood up. She escorted me into the kitchen. There she taught me what she was doing and everything else she knew. By the time I turned thirteen, I knew everything about the drug game there was to know.
“Even though she taught me all of that, she always made me promise to stay in school and get an education. My senior year I came home to find my mother in tears. When I asked her what was wrong, she told me that her connect had gotten arrested and no one else would sell to her. Shortly thereafter, things began to get rough for my mother and me. So, one night I caught the train over to New York City and arrived at One Hundred Forty-Fifth Street in Harlem and posted up. I watched as jokers who looked like drug dealers approached Spanish dudes.
“Within minutes, I witnessed drug and money transactions between the black and Spanish hustlers. I waited until I thought I had found the right hustler, and then I followed him. I followed him all the way to the subway station, and then right before he made it to the steps, I made my move. He never saw it coming. I crept up from behind, yoked him up, and put the knife I had hidden behind my back up to his throat. I told him to run his pockets, or I would slit his throat, and I meant it.
“He reached into his pocket and gave me a small brown paper bag with a piece of tape on it to conceal it. I took the package with my left hand, while holding the blade firmly up against his neck with my right hand. Everything was going smooth until he made the fatal mistake of reacting. To this day, I don’t know what he was trying to do, but he never got the chance to do it, because without hesitation, I slit his throat from ear to ear with the Rambo knife I had. I remember being scared to death, and I ran for my life. I nearly ran all the way down to One Hundred Twenty-Fifth Street nonstop. I made my way to the One Hundred Twenty-Fifth Street train station to head back to Brooklyn. I was paranoid the whole while.
“When I got home, I tore open the brown bag. Based on the color, I knew it was coke. I went and got the scale I knew your grandmother kept in the house. When I placed the package on there, it read fifty-six grams. That was the day I became a drug dealer. A year later I moved us out of Marcy and into a brownstone. That following year your grandmother died. Before she died, she told me to make sure I used what she had taught me to get ahead in life and never forgot that.” Kafis paused for a moment. “Do you know why I’m telling you this story?” he asked his daughter.
Kafisa didn’t have a clue, but she was glad he had shared that piece of his life with her. She shook her head no. Instead of speaking, she waited for him to tell her why.
“The reason I told you that story is that”—he took a deep breath—“the something your grandmother told me is the something I’m telling you now.”
His statement caught her by surprise.
Kafis picked up on it. “Listen, I know what I laid on you is a hard pill to swallow, but with all that has happened and is going on right now in them streets, we needed to have this talk,” he began. “At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter what I made in them streets. When the smoke clears and the dust settles, there will be nothing. These people are gonna take it all, and there’s nothing you or I can do about it.”
She listened attentively to her father. The more he talked, the more a weird feeling swept through her body. “Dad, don’t say that.” Kafisa scowled.
“Baby girl, just hear me out please,” he insisted. “These crackers ain’t playing fair. They got somebody playing for ’em that used to be on my team. Just don’t know who, though.”
Kafis had been charged with conspiracy, with the intent to distribute cocaine, and now they were trying to throw the book at him. He was a man with money, power, and influence that was so far reaching, nobody had even known how high up he was until now. Based on information provided to the Feds about murders and drug trafficking over state lines, they had enough evidence to charge him under the CCE Statute, also known as the Kingpin Statute. He had officially become one of the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted, and now they had captured him. According to them, at his command, his team had been responsible for a slew of murders of rival drug dealers, had had ties to the Italian mob, and had engaged in drug trafficking and transport in over fifty cities and states. The government was trying to make sure he went away for the rest of his life and never saw daylight again. They had even tried to get his daughter on similar charges.
“This may be the last time you see your ole . . .” Kafis inhaled, then exhaled. “Yeah, this is where it ends for me.”
“Dad, why are you talkin’ like this?” she asked.
“Look, don’t question me.” His tone switched from calm to strong. “Sooner or later, everything is going to get crazy back home, and I want to make sure you’re prepared and can handle what comes behind it. I’ve already sent letters to your uncle Fran and Corey. Those are the two people you can turn to if need be.” He paused and shook his head. “I’m sorry, honey. I should’ve done better. Could’ve prepared better.” Kafis lowered his gaze and dropped his head in shame.
“Hey, ole man. Hold your head up,” Kafisa thundered into the phone.
That caused Kafis to chuckle into the receiver even before he raised his head back up.
“No apologies, no regrets, remember?” Kafisa shot her father’s words back at him.
The irony made him smile. “You’re right,” he agreed.
“And no getting soft,” she added with a smile.
“Only for you, baby girl.” Kafis smiled with his eyes. “Regardless of that, though, you’ll always be in my heart and in my mind. You’re my only real blood family, you understand me?”
“Absolutely!” Kafisa replied in a stern tone. “We’re family for life!” Kafisa looked her father square in the eyes and repeated her words again.
A tear managed to escape Kafis’s left eye. He wiped it away quickly, then put his fist up to the Plexiglas. “I love you, baby girl.”
Kafisa placed her palm on the Plexiglas. “I love you too, Daddy.” At that moment, an unspoken connection had been made between father and daughter.
Kafis stood up. “One last thing,” he said.
Kafisa noticed the change in his demeanor again. She waited for him to tell her what was on his mind.
“The game is officially over for me.” Kafisa watched as her father’s nostrils flared. He began to fidget with his hands. “I know I can’t stop yo
u, so I’m not even going to try.” He took another deep breath. “Just promise me one thing.”
Kafisa locked eyes with the man who was responsible for her being the woman she was today. “Anything.” The respect was undeniable in her tone.
“If you gonna play it, play it to the fullest!” Kafis slammed his right fist into the palm of his left hand. “Don’t take no shorts from nobody, and make sure you surround yourself with people who don’t, either.”
Kafisa had heard him loud and clear. She nodded in agreement. So many thoughts and questions invaded her mind, but she held back from expressing them. She knew that if her father was saying all this to her, then things had to really be serious. She also knew that if he had just given her his blessing to step into the world he had taught her about—something he had wanted her to do only in case of an emergency—then things were really bad. Words her father had said to her when she was a little girl now resonated in her mind. If I ever give you my blessing to play this game, then we’ve hit rock bottom. So Kafis had just told her that they had hit rock bottom. It was now her turn to wipe away a tear that had managed to escape her right eye. She quickly wiped it away and maintained her composure.
Kafis stared at his daughter long and hard before he spoke. He knew he had just opened Pandora’s box, but he felt no remorse about any of it. He knew what Kafisa’s decision would be. “That’s my baby girl.” He smiled. “Believe none of what you hear and less than half of what you see.” His demeanor turned serious. “Normally, I would tell you that if you’re the smartest person in the room, then you’re in the wrong room, but in this case, always make sure you’re the smartest person in the room.”
Kafisa nodded. She was all too familiar with her father’s “smartest person in the room” quote. She knew it was his way of telling her to always stay on point and three steps ahead of everybody else.
Kafis shook his head and grimaced before he spoke again. “I don’t want you coming down here anymore to see me, either. This will be the last time you see me like this,” he stated. Before Kafisa could rebut or put up a fight, Kafis hung up the phone, spun around, and walked off.
Carl Weber's Kingpins Page 7
